


Jailed

by QueerSherlockian (Anglophile_Fiend)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode: s03e02 The Sign of Three, Fluff, M/M, Missing Scene, cell/jail scene, post stag do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:02:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anglophile_Fiend/pseuds/QueerSherlockian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filling in the missing jail scene from S3Ep2. Fluffy dorks professing fluffy dork things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jailed

It was cramped, sitting shoulder to shoulder on the small, barely padded bench, backs pressed against the wall. John snickered, and nudged Sherlock as soon as the jailer clicked their cell door into place.

“Still can’t believe, you threw up all over that poncy white rug. That. Was. Pricelessss." John slurred a tiny bit, even though the cold jail cell did plenty to sober them both up quickly. " I can see the papers now, The Great Sherlock Holmes, Can’t Hold his Liquor.”

“Thankfully, the yarders are all so dreadfully slow, I had time to wash out my mouth.”

“Yes, that’s the important thing Sherlock. Not the fact that you destroyed a crime scene, which forced the bloody landlord to call the police, aaaaand now we’ve been arrested. No, no, what matters is that your breath is minty fresh.”

 

“Jealously, John? Really? That man probably wouldn’t have called if you had not told him I was ‘ _cluing for looks_ ’.” Sherlock punctuated with his fingers.

“You heard that, eh?”

Sherlock quirked a grin in reply and swayed back into John with a buzzed mirth.

“Well at least we’re alone and not with a bunch of smelly drunks.” John proclaimed, gesturing to their small cell.

“No, just the one.” said Sherlock, leaning to jostle John a bit with his shoulder and knee.

“Hey, I’m not the one who doesn’t know his limits.”  John leaned back into him a bit harder.

“I’ll have you know, Molly and I performed extensive calculations for the entire evening, down to the milliliter. But, I suppose I left too much decision making in her hands. That was clearly a mistake on my part. Sentiment.” He shook his messy curls in frustration, which did nothing to make him look any less like a movie star.

John let loose a huff, thinking about poor Molly, and then pushed again into Sherlock. They swayed together for a moment in silence.

 

“I must lie down. John...transport..move! Please.”

John gave a put-upon sigh and rolled his eyes. “OH! Fine. I’ll just sit over here... on the floor. Cus Princess Bloody Holmes needs to have a bit of a lie down.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock answered, practically purring with self-satisfaction.

“Oh my God, you’re serious. You utter cock!” John yelled off the bench, and flopped down to the cold cement floor. “There. Happy now?” John pouted, drawing up his knees to his chest, and wrapping his arms around them.

 

Sherlock gave a quick stretch, shut his eyes, and curled up on his side.

“Mmmm. Thank you, love.” Sherlock murmured dreamily, making slight adjustments to his body for an optimal sleep pattern.

John’s eyes bugged out. “WHAT did you just call me?!”

“Hmm?” Sherlock’s eyes fluttered open. “ I said, ‘thank you, John,’ is that a problem? Me thanking you?”

“No, NO! You said ‘love,’ you said ‘thank you- love.’ Not John. I heard it, clear as day.” He was not going to be proven wrong this time. He almost never got to win arguments with Sherlock, and John knew with absolute clarity that he was right this time.

 

“John, I can recall every word I’ve ever uttered, including all ones I haven’t said aloud, and I certainly would never purposely call you... that.”

“Oh you wouldn’t call me that _purposely_ , but that doesn’t make it untrue. Obviously, it slipped out unconsciously.” Pride spread along John’s face, along with ruddy emotion.

 

Sherlock pushed himself up on an elbow, no longer sleepy. “So what if I love you. Of course I do. Have I not made that abundantly clear? You are my...Best Friend. However, I would never call you ‘Love’ to your face, because I know it would make you uncomfortable. Too afraid of rumors, people talking and all that nonsense you go on about. It’s just how I think of you...in here.” Sherlock points to his head. “In my mind palace.”

 

John swiveled his body towards the bench, and locked eyes with the elevated man. “Sherlock.” He reached up to place a warm hand on Sherlock’s narrow forearm. “Sherlock, I don’t care what people hear. I’m over that. If you have feelings, that’s not a bad thing, okay? It’s a bloody human thing. I mean, I don’t want to have some big ‘ _talk_ ’ about them or anything, but you can tell me...things. Okay? You always tell me anything,” he concluded with finality.

 

Sherlock broke their gaze by dropping his head, but then picked up a hand to place over John’s, lacing their fingers together. Sherlock rubbed a thumb over the back of John’s hand, and finally lifted his eyes up.

 

“Okay.” He replied softly, eyes blazing through shades of blue and green. “I love you.”

John’s face lit up in a shower of almost tangible sparks, while Sherlock’s bloomed red as he leaned down again to hide behind his mop of fringe. But John sat as tall as he could manage, and pressed up against the bench to find an angle with which to capture Sherlock’s forehead with his own.

He reached his freehand around the back of Sherlock’s neck and pulled them closer together. “I love you too.” John breathed into the other man’s open mouth. A pained sound emerged from Sherlock’s throat, and he pulled back from the embrace with effort, John’s hand released his neck, but not his other hand with it’s tangled fingers.  

 

“Are we done with the dramatic confessional part of the evening? Because this transport needs rest currently.” Sherlock announced, snapping back into his role as giant consulting baby, and curled back down onto the bench.

John frowned, and slid into his spot on the floor, arm stretched out a bit, to maintain their handhold, which was now just a crush of fingers. “Yes, we are. Go ahead and rest, who knows when we’ll get out of here. I know Mary won’t pick us up, and when I talked to Greg-”

 

He was interrupted by a soft snuffle that lead into a steady snore.

The great Sherlock Holmes had actually fallen asleep, and had done it while holding John Watson’s hand.

John gave it a small squeeze, let his head fall back onto the cinderblock wall, and joined Sherlock in fitful slumber.

 


End file.
